


sorry babe, but it’s war.

by raiindust



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, BAMF Raven Reyes, Bellamy Blake is a History & Mythology Nerd, F/M, Fluff, Light Angst, Mild Smut, Minor Clarke Griffin/Lexa, Minor Octavia Blake/Lincoln
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-10
Updated: 2016-06-10
Packaged: 2018-07-14 07:31:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7160171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raiindust/pseuds/raiindust
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>or the one where Ark College erupts into KAOS (Killing as an Organised Sport), and Raven Reyes discovers she’s an excellent fake!assassin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	sorry babe, but it’s war.

**Author's Note:**

> This is shamelessly filled with all sorts of ridiculous tropes, and fulfilled my desire to write a College!AU for Raven & Bellamy. Somewhat inspired by the ABC Family show _Greek _, which is flawless and amazing and should be loved more. Also who knew that the hardest part of a Raven & Bellamy fic would be writing the Raven & Bellamy moments? __
> 
> __Unbeta'd because this has been on my almost but not exactly finished list for over a month, sucking all sorts of creativity from me and not allowing me to write anything else. All mistakes (and there are probably several) are therefore mine._ _

 

****If Raven were to tell this story, it would definitely begin a little like this.

 

She finds out about KAOS while sitting through what may just be a top contender for dullest lecture of the year.

 

Maybe her expectations were way too high when she signed up for _Roman Warfare: An Artful History._ The outline suggested the course would explore in detail the ways in which the Romans were 'born ready for war', and hinted at gruesome stories about their deadliest escapades.

 

Instead the course had been (for the most part) a series of boring slides from an aging professor who couldn’t seem to appreciate his target audience was a group of college kids who just wanted to hear ancient bloody war stories.

 

Or maybe it was just the way Professor Wallace happened to drag things on and on, monotonous words that ran into sentences that ran into paragraphs without interruption. There was no life to the history, and this sort of history should always be about life. At least, that’s what the courses’ TA had said, when he handed out the course outlines on the very first day.

 

Maybe that’s where her expectations had been confused.

 

She’s about to confess the thought to Monty but feels her phone buzz gently in her pocket, and watches as his vibrates across the desk. Around the lecture room students are reaching for their phones, some discreetly, some in horror as shrill noises fill the silence, some that reach for them without hesitation, because they simply don’t care. It’s an odd message from an unknown number.

 

_Ready or not, tomorrow it begins._

 

“Sorry Raven.” Monty sighs, pushing his books into his bag slowly. She gazes around the room, noting almost every other student doing the same. Some have already subtly begun moving towards the door, and when she looks back to Monty, he’s already gone.

  
Professor Wallace stumbles through his closing remarks, and then students too polite to interrupt him bolt for the door. The lecture hall is empty in a matter of seconds, except for Raven, Professor Wallace and her TA, who offers Raven a ghost of a smirk as he glides out the door.

 

Raven let’s out a confused breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. “What the fuck just happened?”

 

\--

 

Her phone beeps obnoxiously on her bedside table, and Raven groans as she fumbles for it, silently praying that it will just die, and she can fall back asleep.

 

No such luck. Instead it begins ringing, with the god awful tune of _Girls Just Wanna Have Fun_ filling her room. Finally she snatches it up, her hand swiping across the screen as she drags it to her ear. “Griffin, it’s 7:00AM on a Saturday. What the fuck?”

 

“Raven,” Clarke’s voice chirps happily at the other end of the phone. “Open up. I have caffeine and a gun.” There’s a laugh, like Clarke  _knows_ that’s enough to encourage Raven out of bed, and she hates her for it (well, only a little).  

 

Across the hall she hears Octavia shoving Lincoln from her room ungraciously. His voice is loud, reverberating through the old wood halls. “What the hell, O?” The confusion is genuine, but Octavia just cackles. “Sorry babe, but it’s war.”

 

“It’s an old Ark tradition,” Clarke says happily as she pushes past Raven, practically floating into the room. There isn’t much spare space, between the desk covered with wires and scrap metal, clothes heaped in piles on the floor (Saturday is laundry day, Raven thinks to herself, Saturday at a normal hour), and the crumpled bed that Raven wants to crawl back into. Octavia follows behind Clarke, plucking a small coffee from her hands and perching herself on the edge of Raven’s desk.

 

“What’s an old Ark tradition?” Raven mumbles darkly, snatching the drink from Clarke on her way back into bed. “KAOS,” Clarke and Octavia reply, and Raven grimaces as they high five over their synchronicity. Sororities are the worst and Raven still, after half a year, seriously doubts her own judgement in joining one.

 

“Killing as an organised sport.” Clarke elaborates, while Octavia’s smile turns almost feral in anticipation. “Every year the weekend before spring break, the Benefactor sends out a mass text to the student body, and the game begins 8:00AM the following day.”

 

“The idea is to be the last Arker standing,” Octavia’s face lights up at the idea. “And winner takes it all.”

 

“By all she means ultimate bragging right,” Clarke adds, and Raven nods her head in faux understanding, because why wouldn’t someone who fake assassinates the college population want bragging rights? “But there’s also the points or rewards, depending on the win.” She smirks slowly, as Raven arches an eyebrow. “They pay you money for being the best at killing people?”

 

“Not exactly. Frats and sororities get points towards the spirit board, while clubs get a money prize to support their general interest area, and fund any new advancements or trips.” Clarke shrugs, like attaching points or money to a fake killing game is no big deal (and for someone who grew up like Clarke, that level of extravagance isn’t), but still, Raven can’t help but think it all sounds a little ridiculous.

 

Then again, since she arrived at Ark College last semester, she’s not sure she’s come across an activity not seeped in tradition that hasn’t been a little ridiculous.

 

Still, if she’s going to be awake at 7:00AM on a Saturday morning, the least she can do is enjoy a little coffee and then fake annihilate some people.

 

“So basically, it’s _Modern Warfare_ sans paintball, and replaced with some sort of weapon?” Raven asks as she pushes herself from bed and slowly makes her way to her wardrobe, rubbing her leg gently to help the circulation. It’s been better, lately, thanks to the ever so slightly warmer weather, but it still stings a bit in the chill of the morning.

 

“You’re leg alright?” Clarke asks quietly, as Raven pulls on a dark hoodie, followed by her red jacket. That’s Clarke for you. Always so damn perceptive. “Yeah, I mean, it hurts, which sucks.” She replies quickly, looking to the ground. “But I’m dealing with it.” She sits to strip her tracksuit pants, and winces a little when her leg stretches beyond capacity, but is thankful when Clarke let’s it slide. She worries about everyone, it’s her thing, but sometimes it can be a little too much for Raven to take.

 

Octavia reads the situation beautifully, asking Clarke quickly “So, what’s the play Miss President?” Raven shoots her a grateful smile, and begins bracing up. In the short time they have spent together Raven has picked up bits and pieces of Octavia’s story, and apparently she knows a thing or two about being protected. In O’s case, it’s by her older brother,  but it’s something they sort of have in common, if Raven counts Clarke as the older sibling she never really asked for yet somehow received all the same.

 

Reaching behind her, Clarke tosses each of them an identical Nerf gun. They are pretty basic, from what Raven can see, and when she looks to see how many shots they have, she snorts when she sees just one plastic tipped bullet in the arsenal.

 

“Now what?” Raven sighs, her brace fully strapped in place.

 

Clarke stretches her legs out in front of her, and balances her own gun gently on her lap. “Now, we wait.”

 

\--

 

Three phones beep in unison as the clock ticks over to 8:00AM. Octavia snatches hers from her lap like lightning and laughs seconds later. Clarke is slower, more calculated, but still, within moments is groaning. Raven, of course, left hers on charge, so she has to walk slowly to the other end of the room to get hers.

 

_You have one kill shot, use it wisely or you’ll end up dead. Take down your target and advance to the next round by taking their kill order. Last Arker standing takes it all.  KAOS begins._

 

Raven laughs because this so called ‘Benefactor’ obviously has quite a flair for the dramatic. She supposes that happens when you spend a ridiculous amount of time organizing a pretend assassination tournament. There’s a picture underneath the text, a mock gray scale mugshot made from an ID photo. Her first target.

 

“Who’d you get?” She hears Octavia ask Clarke curiously, because Clarke has turned a furious shade of red and is moaning a little (and not in a good way). Never one to respect personal space boundaries, Octavia plucks the phone from Clarke’s hand and cackles mercilessly. Flipping the phone backwards, she shows Raven the mugshot on the screen. Raven recognizes her instantly; it’s the girl from Clarke’s art class that Clarke has been quietly crushing on all semester. Raven cracks as smile and Clarke glares at Octavia and sobs “I can’t kill her.”

 

A plastic pellet swooshes through the air, and lands directly between Clarke’s eyes. Both she and Octavia turn to face Raven, who makes a show of blowing imaginary smoke from the barrel of her gun. She lifts her hand, and reveals her own target, a picture of a smiling Clarke with black and white bars.

 

“Looks like you won’t have to.” Raven speaks with a slow, western drawl, and Octavia snickers behind Clarke as she plucks the dart from her skin and rubs the area roughly. “Oh thank god,” She sobs, causing both Raven and Octavia to double over in laughter.

 

“Maybe this won’t suck after all.” Raven says, snatching the gun from Clarke’s grip. “Now send my your target, and I’ll be on my way.” Holstering the gun in her brace, she makes her way to the door. “It’s time to get my kill on.”

 

\--

 

Turns out Raven is particularly good at killing people, which is something she never thought she would admit out loud. Lexa shouldn’t be an easy target, from what Clarke has told her she is a leader in her own right, strong and fierce, but then again she’s being portrayed through Clarke’s heart-emoji eyes so Raven isn’t sure how objective the description is.

 

She finds Lexa in the art rooms, brooding silently over a half-finished portrait. Years of sneaking around on eggshells around her mother have provided Raven with lessons in both stealth and dexterity, and Lexa never sees the shot coming. A small ooph escapes her lips, and she turns to see Raven lurking silently in the shadows and gives her a thumbs up.

 

“Thanks.” She smiles, tossing her gun to Raven and holding her phone out so her target can be transferred. “I so don’t have time for this game today.” It’s a little awkward for Raven who admittedly isn’t that great with great with people she doesn’t know, so she nods curtly when the transfer is complete. She turns to leave, but not without catching a glimpse of the artwork Lexa is working on. Blonde hair, a wide smile, and eyes that look determined as fuck. Raven laughs quietly.

 

“What?” Lexa asks slowly, turning the artwork further away from Raven’s eyes. “See something funny?” There’s snark in her voice, with a twinge of anger and maybe Clarke wasn’t exaggerating about this girl. “No, nothing funny.” Raven turns, and walks to the door, but can’t help but comment over her shoulder as she pushes it open and heads into the sunlight. “You really nailed the eyes.”

 

The next two kills come easy, because apparently there’s only a small percentage of Arkers who commit to the game fully. Which makes sense, given it’s Spring Break in a week's time, and there have got to be about a hundred other things she could be doing with her Saturday.

 

Except then she hears from Clarke that Octavia is too, out of the game, taken down by some dick from the Azgeda frat while she was researching her next target, and the house is down to three ladies. Harper and Monroe are still in thankfully, so Clarke and Octavia are taking shifts to protect them to try and maximize their houses’ strength.

 

“Besides,” Octavia calls over the speaker once Monroe has been sufficiently silenced into cooperating. “You are too deep undercover to warrant protection. There’s rumors beginning to surface of a silent assassin. Keep doing what you’re doing and victory is ours!”

 

Octavia, Raven has discovered in the past couple of hours, takes this warrior thing very seriously. Not that she would begrudge her that, Raven is enjoying assassinating people way more than she should.

 

Murphy is next on her chopping block, but unfortunately he’s trickier than her previous targets. Raven suspects it’s because he understands darkness the same way she gets hiding in the shadows, that something in his past made him the way he is, but Octavia just claims he’s just always been an ass. She had a run in with him on the first day of semester, and ever since she shut him down mercilessly he’s had it in for her. When she can’t find him in his usual stomping ground (the beatnik bar on the edge of the college grounds) she sends out an SOS to Clarke and Octavia.

 

_Try the dungeon_ comes the unhelpful reply from Octavia, but thankfully Clarke takes time to elaborate. _Dungeon is the underground gaming room near the Quad. If he isn’t at Hashtag, he’ll be there._

 

She gets confirmation he’s there as she slinks in the back entrance, but has to hide out in the dank ladies until his posse of gamers disappears into a video game high. Except Murphy remains alert, which pisses Raven off, because of all the kills she could have wound up with, of course his would be the most challenging. It’s not like he can take her down easily from where he lounges, but he can dodge her shot, and if she misses it’s just sitting around waiting until she gets taken down herself. And Raven doesn’t have time for that.

 

Finally, her moment arrives when a girl with dark hair and tattoos splayed across her face enters the room, and Murphy’s focus fades immediately. It’s a cheap ploy, a played out trope, but Raven uses Distracted by the Sexy to storm the dungeon and take her shot. Murphy reacts, but a second too late, and the pellet pushes into his side, metaphorically taking him down.

 

He sneers as she snatches his gun, but sighs with defeat when she holds out her phone for the target transfer. “Shoulda known you were the one they were talking about.” He says spitefully, with the slightest hint of awe.

 

“‘Course it was me.” She laughs, throwing her hoodie over her face. “Who else would be this good at pretend assassinations?”

 

\--

 

Miller is by far her most memorable kill (which is nice, she thinks, given the relative ease she’d just taken down Echo and Gina). She sneaks up behind him, managing to shove the gun into his side before letting the pellet loose. He plays along, coughing and spluttering as he falls to the ground, twitching into the most melodramatic death. Raven sheds a silent tear for the Thespian Society (Miller was their final player in this game) before claiming his gun in victory. He winks, when she sees who his target was, who her target is now. “May the force be with you Raven Reyes. You’re going to need it.”

 

Raven hears along the grapevine (Octavia’s texts) that they are down to the final ten participants. In just under twelve hours 99.9% of the student body have assassinated each other. Clarke then calls, and practically demands she lay low until Octavia can organise some sort of human shield, because this is the first time Skai sisters have gotten this far, and they must do everything in their power to win.

 

“Clarke,” Raven breathes into the speaker when she finally pauses to take a breath. “I got this.”

 

Cage goes down relatively easily, in spite of his reputation. Maybe he was too cocky for his own good, or maybe Raven is just better than anyone ever thought she would be. The fact of the matter is that it’s quick, effortless, and she plucks the gun from his hands before he’s even registered it’s over.

 

\--

 

Her tenth kill is particularly satisfying, even if it does happen after the worst nights sleep ever, with her Skai sisters watching her way too closely through the night for her to even begin to be comfortable.

 

When Raven first arrived at Ark she considered, for like, a hot minute, joining the Mechanics Club. And she might have, except for the small fact that the kid in charge was a narcissistic douche with the inability to grow a decent bit of scruff. There was a poorly planned date involved, some shameful words spoken (on his part), and some roughing up done (by her, to him). The result had been her meeting Clarke in the infirmary though, so she only looked back on that brief window of time with 98.3% hatred.

 

Still, she can’t help but smile when Cage sends her through the picture of the pesky little prick. She stalks him down in his favourite hipster coffee house, and shoots him straight in the head, smirking widely as Octavia films the whole thing. “Thanks for nothing.” She grins smugly as she seizes the gun roughly, but the smile begins to falter when she sees a familiar face flash across her screen.

 

“Shit.” She whines, slowly holding the phone up to Octavia, who is still filming (and acting as a secondary lookout, if Clarke happens to ask). Her lips form a perfect O in momentary shock, and then she begins to cackle once again, with the maniacal, evil laughter Raven has come to both adore and despise in the past twenty four hours. “You are so screwed.”  

 

And Raven wonders if she is, because her next kill is Bellamy.

 

\--

 

Bellamy Blake is a topic of conversation discussed widely and often in the Skai Sorority house. He’s Octavia’s brother, so more often than not there’s a lot of yelling from Octavia, involving several key phrases such as ‘just let me live my life,’ and ‘I know you love me and want to protect me but dammit I am a grown girl with needs, Bell, _needs,’_ and according to some of the sisters, he’s one of the better looking men to grace the campus, with scruffy hair and dreamy eyes, so whenever a top ten list is made his name gets mentioned far more than Raven would like, and more than Octavia is comfortable with.

 

Also, she kind of made out with him once, so there’s that.

 

If she were to tell the story, it would involve a friendly game of ‘Never Have I Ever’ that spiraled into an alcohol fuelled game of ‘Truth or Dare’, and ended with her dancing in the fountain with Clarke and Octavia. End of story.

 

If she were to tell the sorority gossip version of the story, she would include the weeping mess she became after five shots and a painfully truthful question about relationships and transferring revealed more than she would have liked. She would smile with a slight eye-roll at the cheesy way Octavia and Clarke wrapped her up in a hug and told her that they were there for her, no matter what, because that’s what sisters were for, as they dragged her to Hashtag to drown her sorrows.  

 

If she were to tell the _whole_ story, she would sigh as she spoke about the boy she had pressed her mouth against in the shadows of an alley, after she had slipped outside for some air and bumped into his chest. She would laugh at the blush that crept onto his cheeks as he apologised, running a hand through his messy hair. She would have taken his hand (and him) by surprise and yanked him around the corner, pushing him against a wall before taking a breath and meeting his eyes; searching for a silent yes, I don’t know you but is this okay, can we do this? She would have matched his smile which turned into a smirk as she leaned in, tasting coffee on his lips, and wondering if he could taste vodka and tears on hers. She would have felt him out; tugging on his lower lip with her teeth eliciting a mangled groan, hands sliding from firm shoulders and tugging on tangled hair, body curving into his as his hands reached the small of her back, pulling her close.

 

She would’ve been breathless and raw and open, and he would’ve pulled back and made some lame joke about coming out more often, and she would go on the offensive without question, because double standards and expectations were still gaping wounds for her, and if she is wounded then this stranger should be too because no, it really didn’t help at all. She would have stumbled backwards with the taste of condescension on her lips. She wouldn’t look back, even as he spewed apologies, and she would’ve found Clarke and Octavia and toasted to the death of men and danced in a fountain.

 

And if he turned up a day later in her living room with Octavia introducing him as her brother, she wouldn’t pull him aside and tell him that in no uncertain terms is he to never, ever tell anyone about her five minutes of complete lunacy the night before, and wouldn’t have cursed loudly when he just nodded and smirked.

 

And if he appeared as the teaching assistant in her Roman Warfare class the following Monday, she wouldn’t drop her head against the desk with a groan, and he wouldn’t hide a laugh as his eyes met hers. She wouldn’t steel herself against his laugh, and make a point to disagree with him whenever the opportunity arose, until their discussions in tutorials went from annoying to stuff of legends (according to Monty at least).

 

If she were to tell the story, the name Bellamy Blake wouldn’t appear between every comma halted pause.

 

She doesn’t tell the story.

 

(For all she knows, Bellamy has told that story time and time again. To Octavia, to Clarke, to the wall of his room that she knows he stares at long and hard when he’s not figuring out how to revive the empire. But, there’s no proof, and if Octavia and Clarke are aware of where she went for that short period of time, well, they haven’t brought it up.)

 

Instead, she tells the story of a boring course, and an inept TA, who just happens to disagree with her every chance he gets, which is a lot, because she’s vocal about things, okay? And she so very clearly gets warfare. He just can’t let things go, Raven thinks. It’s something she’s voiced loudly, on many an occasion. Usually under the influence of alcohol, while Octavia just laughs and rolls her eyes, and Clarke places her head in her hands and cries “Not this again,” because apparently Raven has a thing when it comes to Bellamy Blake, and it all depends on who you ask what sort of thing it might be.   

 

So when Clarke finds out he is her next target she begins to pace the room dramatically. Octavia grins as she flops on Raven’s bed, her eyes tracing back and forth as Clarke begins to slow. “This isn’t as bad as it could be.” As the words leave Clarke’s mouth, Octavia snorts and Raven rolls her eyes. “It’s not!” She protests, but Octavia shakes her head. “You don’t get it. Bellamy has won this thing two years running. He likes to flaunt it while making me attend his ridiculous Latin Club events.” Her eyes flick between Raven and Clarke. “I mean, no offence Raven, because you’ve been awesome so far. But Bell has this assassin thing down to an artform. You don’t stand a chance.”

 

Of course, Raven thinks to herself, of course Bellamy Blake would live for some fake assassin tournament. Of course he would enjoy sneaking around, fake killing people, and bragging about his victory. That is just the kind of person he is.

 

“Besides,” Clarke continues, glancing towards Raven. “You have complex, well, feelings--”

 

“She’s saying you want to jump his bones.” Octavia spits out, and Raven turns to stare, her face impassive, her eyes screaming bloody murder. Clarke groans and hangs her head in annoyance, but Octavia smirks like the menace she is, and Raven finally attempts to look aghast at the suggestion, hoping the tinge of red making it’s way to her cheeks will be written off as adrenaline, rather than a suggestion of some form of partial miniscule truth to the words.

 

“I do not, as Octavia so eloquently put it, want to ‘jump his bones’,” Raven stutters finally, breaking out the air quotes to emphasise the absurdity of the statement, as if it’s something she hasn’t had to tell herself over and over again. “But what I am going to do his kick his ass.” She says decidedly. “So chill, Clarke.” Walking slowly to the door, she pauses against the frame. Her nerf gun is placed securely against her hip. Octavia smirks and Clarke sighs. She draws the gun from her belt and aims into nothingness. “Seriously, I got this.”

 

\--

 

Raven tracks Bellamy to the library (Octavia’s suggestion), which seems fitting, given that he is a giant fucking nerd (his sister's words, not her own, except that she definitely agrees with the statement.) A message had come from Octavia as Raven has stepped through the doors into the building, letting her know that she and Bellamy are the final two contenders in the game of KAOS. _Don’t let us down,_ the message reads, _otherwise Clarke may just cry._

 

“So, this is supposed to be giving you the tactical advantage, right?” Raven shouts into the stacks to break the eerie silence, and smiles when she’s rewarded with a faint laugh in the distance, coming directly from the Antiquities section. Even when silence is key to winning this game, Bellamy Blake just can’t keep his mouth shut.

 

“Please tell me I get an automatic pass grade when I kick your ass at this? Distinction if I do it in style?” She speaks slowly, sarcasm etched onto each word.

 

“Depends on your practical application.” Comes the muffled reply, and Raven stretches her neck in the hopes of hearing more accurately where the words are falling from. “It’s all well and good for you to listen, to write notes and regurgitate them in exams--” The words are creeping closer, the silence getting smaller, and Raven is on high alert, her hand skimming over the gun she has holstered in her pocket. “But actively engaging with what you’ve learned, that’s a whole other level.”

 

“Oh god, stop, please.” She groans, rolling her eyes, and hears him snort. As Raven rounds the corner a shadow catches her eye, and she swerves back, causing several books to slam to the ground loudly. Instantly she flattens herself against the shelf to avoid detection but in the moment the absurdity of the situation finally hits her; she’s stalking down her final ‘kill’ in the dim maze he’s selected for their battleground, all for bragging rights and making her sorority sisters proud.

 

It’s ridiculous and insane, and yet she’s felt so alive in the past day and a half that she’s beginning to be very concerned about how much she’s enjoyed this game.

 

“You still with me, Reyes?” Comes the voice from the darkness, and Raven knows instinctively he’s closer than he was before. Bellamy's’ voice is still low, and hilariously gruff, but his words last longer between her quiet breaths, and she’s immediately annoyed at herself for feeling more than a little flushed while playing the ultimate game of cat and mouse with him.

 

Something buzzes against her skin and she jumps backwards in shock, knocking more books to the ground. “Dammit Octavia,” She mumbles under the breath as she fumbles her phone, but the number is unknown and the message is, well, laughable, to say the least.

 

_Look behind you_.

 

“Tempting,” She laughs, tightening the grip on her gun. “But not happening.” Quickly she ducks around the corner, her eyes casting a brief glance through the shelves as she sees a figure burst into a sprint. She’s fast approaching another corner, because library shelves are built for contained browsing rather than freedom and liberation, and Raven can hear Bellamy’s breaths closing in, so she ducks as she turns into the corner, jutting out her foot as her body remains low.

 

She meets his eyes as he glances upwards, and because his reaction time isn’t the best, Bellamy can only do so much before he’s tumbling to the ground. Except she hadn’t estimated the force of the hit, and as quickly as he fell, she falls too, and ends up half sprawled on top of Bellamy with a quiet oomph.

 

For a moment there’s silence, an awkward hesitation from both parties because, well, the last time they were this close he was just a guy walking into a bar, and she was just a girl desperate to feel, and she doesn’t know what he’s feeling, but for a fraction of a second she reverts back to the broken hearted Raven Reyes who just wants to experience being with someone, anyone else.

 

Except then he laughs and she remembers that things have changed and she has grown as a person and dammit if she doesn’t want to throttle him for laughing at her like that then and now.

 

Her eyes narrow with irritation (and fuck, she swears she won’t notice that he has more freckles than Octavia, or that when he laughs at her his smile meets his eyes in the annoying McDreamy way), and he says, “You’re cute when you’re angry,” which snaps her out of her thoughts as she realises she’s been staring a little too long.

 

“And you’re a pain in the ass.” She replies with an eye-roll, feeling more than a little irked at the situation. While she has his hands pinned down with a knee to limit access to his gun, which had flown from his hands and rests just above his head, her own gun out of reach, sitting on the floor a few feet away. Raven eyes them both and briefly considers if she could move fast enough to claim either weapon (the answer is no, her leg tells her, crawling is out, and she doubts she could beat him to her feet) before announcing “Stalemate,” sarcastically. Bellamy groans out “Wrong era, Reyes,” and fucking hell, really?

 

“You’re problem is you think like a modern tactician responding to individual events--” The words that float from his mouth sound like they belong on a lecture slide, and Raven snorts as he turns from killer assassin to straight-laced TA in mere seconds, and she realises that in spite of everything Bellamy may be on the outside, deep down in his core he’s a nerd. And while he waxes poetic about the wonders of Roman warfare Raven schemes the ways in which she can take the title of KAOS King from him.

 

“-- and they really were groundbreaking in their use of, of military.” Bellamy stutters out as Raven stills above him, locking her knees into place. There’s never been much room for silence between the two of them, as if an unspoken determination had come to exist that an absence of noise meant one or the other or both were thinking about the night that shall not be named, and to avoid that the words would spill out louder and louder until all there was between them was a cacophony of sound.

 

Except for that moment as the quiet envelops them, and she feels his chest constrict and his breath falter in the same breath she exhales and feels her body react to the desperate desire to fill the silence with anything. His breath hitches as she flicks her eyes to meet his, her gaze unbroken, and finally, he looks away.

 

Tactical advantage: Raven one, Bellamy zero.

 

Only then he’s looking right back at her all serious-like, his eyes crinkling at the edge as a small smile forms on his lips and it feels like the air between them has become incredibly thin, and really, Raven wonders, why have they continued to lay like this for as long as they have, because there is some seriously intimate shit that could happen in a position such as this, and “Stop looking at me like that Blake.” Raven breaths out finally, and Bellamy’s smile turns into a smirk in the blink of an eye. Fuck.

 

Tactical advantage: all tied up (literally _and_ figuratively).

 

Only they are exactly where they were moments before, bodies locked together, guns out of reach, no end in sight. “Stalemate.” Raven smirks because she’s a shit like that, and she knows it will get a rise out of him. He opens his mouth ready to berate her (again) but clamps it shut as he realises it was meant for just that. Her smirk becomes smug, and she shrugs her shoulders (as much as she can). “Seriously, we can’t just stay like this forever.”

 

“I don’t know.” Bellamy replies, all calm nonchalance. “One of us will eventually cave,” He tries to shrug, and it just shifts their bodies awkwardly without accomplishing much. “or maybe jump to conclusions after a few poorly chosen words are thrown together, resulting in yet another Raven Reyes speciality verbal smackdown of a lifetime.”

 

There’s a pause, and she feels his body tense as if he’s waiting for her to object to the statement. Except she can’t, because for the first time in their -- whatever this is, she’s kind of floored.

 

But also, verbal smackdown of a lifetime? Even Raven has to admit that she’s also intrigued. So instead she motions for him to continue. Well, as much as she can, given her current position, and their current predicament.

 

She sees it then, in the pause between breaths, the confidence drop slightly from his features. A smirk being replaced by a shy smile, the challenging arch to his brow lowered with softening eyes. She knows instinctively this is a side to Bellamy that rarely makes an appearance, and she’s kind of stunned that he’s comfortable enough to share it with her.

 

“When we first met--” A pause, and Raven can’t help the smirk that forms on her lips at the somewhat heated memory. “Not, no, not _then._ When we met properly,” He stammers, clarifying. “You were, captivating. In a matter of moments, in the smallest amount of words you called me out and shut me down and my world, it was flipped upside down and suddenly, every day, it was like I was arguing with the sun, and I was just, blindsided by it. By you.”

 

There’s a pause, and his eyes flick up and meet hers, searching for something (what exactly, she doesn’t know, but she doesn’t back away from his gaze, even if it is getting to be a little too intense.) “I didn’t know what to expect when you sauntered into class. I still don’t know what to expect every time you open you mouth. You are smart and funny and too clever for your own good. You’re a fucking force of nature, Raven Reyes. And from the minute you disagreed with me about the tactical deployment of Roman troops into northern Europe, I was hooked.”

 

The words feel honest and raw, falling from his lips like a hushed prayer as he meets her eyes with reverence, and it takes everything in her to not look away for that moment, because every phrase that has fallen from the mouth of Bellamy fucking Blake (stripped of his bravado, lying still beneath her, small breaths punctuating the silence) has awed her into silence.  

 

Bellamy opens his mouth, as if to continue, because apparently he has more intense thoughts on this, on her, on them, except his words are still threading themselves into her veins and she is sure that whatever he says next will tip her beyond her comfort zone and fuck she’s not ready for that (not yet at least).

 

So she does what any normal person would do in this situation (if by normal person she means someone who has been been playing a pretend assassination game for two days and is currently lying obscenely close to someone else who basically admitted he wants to romance the fuck out of her when he’s not trying to kill her); she masks her feelings with sarcasm to distract and win, and then figure out how she feels.  

 

“And I’m sure the surprise kiss attack in the alley had absolutely nothing to do with it,” Raven breaths quickly, quirking an eyebrow and smirking down at him, but he just rolls his eyes dramatically and shakes his head.

 

“God Reyes, you’re fucking impossible.” He groans into her shoulder, and Raven takes the opportunity of his momentary distraction to vault herself from his body and reach for the gun. Before he can react her hands are wrapped firmly around the plastic weapon and she’s pulling the trigger, shooting Bellamy straight in the heart.

 

She collapses against the floor roughly causing her leg to begin throbbing, but fuck it, she’s too excited to care. Through halted breaths she celebrates her victory by giggling though a chorus of _We are the Champions_ , except _We_ becomes _I_ and she knows Bellamy is sighing dramatically while playing dead at her feet.

 

From the corner of her eye she can see a mixture of confusion and appreciation written on his features, and when she props herself up on her elbows and nudges him gently (affectionately, some would say) with her good foot, he can’t help but match her smile.

 

“Better luck next time Blake,” Raven laughs brightly.

 

Bellamy pushes himself from the floor and meets her eyes with a smile, his words of vengeance falling easily from his lips. “Next year you’re toast.”

 

\--

 

Afterwards, when Octavia has texted her numerous times with words of excitement punctuated with exclamation points and evil winky faces, when Raven has been announced by the mysterious Benefactor of KAOS as future Queen and ruler, Bellamy walks her home.

 

It’s silly and unnecessary, and Raven rolls her eyes when she shivers and Bellamy shrugs his jacket off and slides it over her shoulders, and Bellamy shoves her shoulder gently when she makes a crack about chivalry not staying dead in this case, and when Raven attempts to shove him back he catches her hand, and locks their fingers together, and she’s too shocked by the touch to do anything about it, so they stay like that as they cross the campus, strangely empty in the moonlight.

 

And she certainly doesn’t comment when he pushes her against the wall in the shadows of the sorority house, his fingers reaching across her face, pushing imaginary stray hairs behind her ears as he leans close and gently presses his lips to hers. She doesn’t prevent his hands from tangling in her hair, doesn’t stop him when he bites gently on her bottom lip, doesn’t cut him off when she groans into an open mouth and he deepens the kiss further.

 

Instead, she lets him have his moment, because she can be impossible after, when she’s not humming with adrenaline that comes from claiming victory, her mindy foggy with close confessions that she can digest and assess tomorrow. Tonight her body is alive with expectation, crushed against the wall, hands roaming across skin that is peeking through her shirt, and the Bellamy is pulling back, his forehead resting gently against hers, eyes flicking up from her lips (red and pulsing and aching for more) until the space sobers her enough to nudge him back with a small laugh.

 

“Sorry Blake, but I have a rule against dating superiors during the semester.” The words are gentle, and his eyebrow inches up slowly as he wraps his arms around her middle. “Oh yeah?” Comes the response, with his lips dipping down and connecting with her neck. They are soft and supple and and for a moment, it works, and Raven sighs against him before pushing back again. “Yeah.” She’s firmer this time, shoving until they no longer touch. “After all, wouldn’t want anyone to suspect I earned my A by banging the TA.”

 

There’s a pause, and she sees understanding cross his features, before his lips curve into a smirk. “You’re planning on banging me?” And just like that, he’s back to his self-assured, cocky self, hands reaching out for Raven’s waist again, which she swats away quickly. “You’ll just have to wait and see.”

 

Flouncing backwards, she steps into the light of the front porch, then throws a wink over her shoulder for the hell of it. “See ya Monday, Blake,” She breathes out, before the front door is flung open and she is yanked inside amid dramatic squeals of delight celebrating her victory.

 

\--

 

If she were to tell the story of winning KAOS (her first win, that is), she’d leave out most of the sappy stuff, and focus on her insane assassination skills.

 

She wouldn’t tell them how she bounced into class on Monday with a new determination to kick Bellamy’s ass all over the place. She would be too busy smirking as Bellamy walked in to notice how Monty just smiled slyly at them before beginning to craft modifications to the KAOS format for the following year.

 

She certainly wouldn’t tell them how she basically pounced on Bellamy as soon as finals were over, when he no longer had any effect on her grade, and she’d taken some time to actually digest his feelings and figure out her own.

 

And she definitely wouldn’t elaborate on how embarrassing it was (for him at least) to be caught sneaking out of her room at 3:00AM by his sister as she was sneaking back in (Raven gets the Spanish inquisition the next morning at breakfast, and Bellamy can’t meet Octavia’s eyes for a week.)  

 

But she doesn’t tell the story, because she doesn’t need too. Someone else does though, except their ending is never quite right.

 

(And her ending is infinitely better.)


End file.
